


Sun Kissed

by morganoconner



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Feels, Fluff, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hasn't seen the sun in three years. Derek is determined to give it back to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun Kissed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the stop-drop-howl community, though this is sort of porn-lite. Um. Oops?
> 
> Many thanks to Pandelion for looking this over for me with no notice at the very last minute.

It takes years for Derek to finally find something real.

Three years, to be precise. And three months. And twenty-three days. Not that he's been keeping count or anything.

And, fine, if he's going to be honest, he doesn't find anything. The witch finds _him_.

She's not what he would have expected a witch to look like, but after Jennifer, after _Kate_ , he's realized that looks can be deceiving.

She's middle-aged, a little on the plump side. Her smile is wide and bright, her blue eyes shining as she takes a seat across from him at the coffee shop he's been using as his research center in this strange little town. "Derek Hale, right?" she asks.

He closes his laptop with a snap, glaring at her, hackles raised. He's in a small town in Massachusetts with a population of approximately twelve people. No one should be recognizing him here. "Who's asking?" he demands.

She takes a sip of her coffee, closing her eyes with a blissful sigh as she swallows. "Sorry," she says when she opens them again. "Morning cup of coffee is my ambrosia. Anyway, my name is Gwen. I hear tell you're looking for something, and I thought I could help."

Derek is suspicious. Of course he is. But he's also desperate.

He hears her out.

~

It's been about six months since the last time Derek was in Beacon Hills. His search has taken him all over the globe, and he hasn't allowed himself much downtime unless he literally couldn't keep going another step and needed to recharge.

It hurt being away from the pack for so long, but that was Derek's penance. Because what happened was his fault, and he was determined to make it right.

Some things can't be undone. But Peter taught him that some things _could_.

Stiles isn't dead, of course, not in the traditional sense. But Derek knows that he's wondered if the fate he was given is actually worse. He's coped surprisingly well since it happened, finishing his senior year through home-schooling, taking college courses online instead of staying on-campus at Berkley like he originally planned. Pack meetings are all held at night now, as are most of the activities his friends plan for the sole purpose of trying to include him.

But no matter how well he's acclimated out of necessity, Derek knows Stiles hates it.

There are heavy blackout curtains on Stiles' windows now, because he'd refused to give up his room after he was turned, no matter how much his dad tried to convince him. They rustle when Derek opens the window, but it's not quite sunrise yet, so he isn't worried about warning Stiles to move away when he shoves it aside to get in.

Stiles is sitting at his desk, chewing absently at a pen cap as he types, probably working on the essay for his Greek Mythology course. Over the phone last week, he'd told Derek it was a quarter of his grade and it was driving him crazy.

Despite how quiet Derek knows he was, Stiles doesn't jump when he touches his shoulder. Stiles can hear heartbeats now, too, although his own remains grimly silent.

He does however, reach up with a hand and fold his fingers around Derek's, leaning back with his eyes closed and sighing softly. "Derek," he says. "You didn't tell me you were coming home."

"Wanted to surprise you," Derek admits. He bends to press a kiss into Stiles' perpetually messy hair.

"Consider me surprised." Head tilted back, Stiles opens his eyes and grins up at him. Derek is always taken aback by how familiar those eyes are, how they never changed even after—

"I have something," Derek tells him, because he came here with a purpose and he refuses to be distracted by those amber eyes framed by long lashes, or the pale skin he hasn't touched, in months. He finds himself wanting to count Stiles' moles the way he used to, back when everything was new and Stiles still had a heartbeat.

Stiles blinks, and then in the fraction of a second, he's standing, facing Derek, his eyes wide and so hopeful it breaks Derek's heart. "Is it…is there a…" He can't even say the word they've both been waiting for so long.

"It's not a cure," Derek tells him, because he has to be honest, and bad news is best delivered fast, like ripping off a band-aid. Still, no amount of preparation could have made watching Stiles' face fall any easier, and for a moment Stiles will yell at him for later, Derek hates himself. "By all accounts, everything I've found…there just isn't one." He swallows. "I'm sorry, Stiles."

Stiles nods, trying to smile even though he must hate it. "I mean, it was always a long shot," he says with a jerky shrug. It's completely at odds with how Stiles is now, the preternatural grace and stillness he was given but never wanted. Which tells Derek a lot about how he must be feeling. "Thanks for trying for so long, anyway."

Derek doesn't deserve the gratitude, but he accepts it because he knows Stiles wants him to. Instead of replying, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tiny bottle the witch gave him. "It's not a cure," he says, "But maybe it will help."

Stiles takes the bottle from him with a wary hope rebuilding in his eyes. It's barely the size of his pinky finger, made of crystal, with a tiny cork being used as a stopper. The liquid inside glows with pearlescent light, instantly pegged as magical.

"Where'd you get it?" Stiles asks, shaking it a little. The elixir sloshes and swirls and continues glowing steadily.

"A friendly witch in the Berkshire area, if you can believe it. Massachusetts," he clarifies at Stiles' blank look. "I did some digging after she left. She's from a friendly coven, and she's helped packs before. I don't think she'd be trying to hurt us."

"But you're not a hundred percent sure." Stiles frowns, eyes still on the bottle in his hand.

"No." Derek closes his eyes, because the truth of it hurts.

"Well, what's it supposed to do?" Stiles eventually asks.

"You'll still have to have blood." Derek starts with what _won't_ change, because it's easier, somehow.

"Okay," Stiles says with a resigned-sounding sigh. He hates his blood diet, but he doesn't need much, and werewolf blood has always been sufficient. A once-a-week donation from a member of the pack allows him to process regular food the rest of the time, converting it to energy much like it would in a human.

"Your enhanced senses won't change, either. You still—"

"Derek," Stiles cuts in, too gentle for the circumstances. "What _will_ change? Come on, you're killing me here." Derek winces, and Stiles' eyes are instantly apologetic. "I need to know."

"Sunlight," Derek finally tells him. His voice is hoarse, because he knows what Stiles has missed most since the change. He knows what it will mean to Stiles, if it's true.

If it works.

And sure enough, Stiles' breath (the breath he doesn't need but always takes anyway) hitches. "It…it won't hurt me anymore?" His voice sounds fragile. "I'll be able to go out during the daytime?"

"That's what she told me." Derek shrugs because it's all he can do. He feels helpless against Stiles' hope, the hope Derek gave him, the hope that could still amount to nothing. "I tried to find something like it online after she gave it to me, but there's nothing. If it's been used before, it's only this coven that's used it, and no one's shared the secret. I don't know, Stiles."

Stiles nods slowly. "Is that it?"

"No." Derek hesitates. "Gwen – the witch – told me it will restore two pf the most important things to a human life that have been taken away by the curse. Sunlight, and…mortality."

Stiles has a stillness to him now, since he was changed, but this is worse. He seems frozen, not even breathing as he stares at Derek with eyes gone wide. "What does that mean?" he whispers. "Derek, _what does that mean?_ "

Derek takes a breath. "It means you would age and die, like a human. Like a werewolf. Eventually, your body will give in. Not to injury or illness, but. You'll be able to pass on, Stiles. You won't be left behind."

Because that's been Stiles' biggest fear these three years. The idea of being nineteen forever, watching all of his friends grow old and die and leave him alone. Derek has seen first-hand how it's tortured him, the nightmares that keep him awake when he should be resting.

Stiles doesn't give him a chance to move or speak. With speed far greater than a werewolf's, he pops the cork and down the liquid inside. Derek is halfway through a shout, wanting to be sure Stiles is sure and that he knows the risk, but it's already done.

Stiles has always been an impulsive, reckless pain in the ass, but for god's sake.

"Don't give me that look, Mr. McGrumpywolf," Stiles says, lips pursed around whatever taste is lingering on his tongue. "Either it'll work or it won't, it's not like we have a way to be sure besides just trying the damn thing."

"It could kill you," Derek growls.

"Gwen the good witch probably isn't the killing type," Stiles says, too optimistic by half considering he never _met_ her.

"Damn it, Stiles," Derek sighs, but he draws Stiles into his arms anyway, because he can't just wait for something to happen without at least holding him.

"I missed you," Stiles whispers against Derek's shoulder. His body and breath are cool where they should be warm. Derek misses that warmth; he didn't have it for long before it was taken from them both.

But at least he still has Stiles. "I missed you, too," he admits, although it's still hard for him to use words like that, words that leave him so open and defenseless.

They're quiet for a long moment, and then Stiles gasps. "Holy—" Before he can say more, he doubles over, convulsing in Derek's grasp. His face is screwed up in agony, and Derek's heart is threatening to beat itself out of his chest as he lowers them to the floor, trying to figure out what's wrong or what he can do to help.

"Derek Derek _Derek_ …" Stiles chants his name like a mantra, all but wheezing it over and over again as he clutches at his chest. Beneath the scrambling, desperate fingers that are tearing open his shirt, Derek hears a strange sound.

_Thump._

He strains his ears, hands clutching at Stiles' wrists to stop him from hurting himself. Thirty seconds later, he hears it again.

_Thump._

"Shh, it's okay," he says. "I've got you, you're okay." He doesn't even know which of them he's trying to reassure more at this point, just prays the words are true as he counts out the time.

Fifteen seconds later: _Thu-thump._

It's unmistakably a heartbeat. One he hasn't heard in years.

"Stiles." His voice barely breaks a whisper. "Your heart."

Stiles has tears leaking from his eyes, and he's gasping in great big gulps of air, but his incredulous gaze meets Derek's, and he lifts one set of their joined hands together to his chest.

_Thu-thump._

"Oh my god," he says, his voice strained with the pain he's suffering as his body re-acclimates to life beating inside him. Derek can't imagine what it fees like, the ache that must be in Stiles' chest, the way his whole body must be tingling back to life as the blood is suddenly pumped again through withered veins.

They stay like that for a long time, Stiles practically in Derek's lap, forehead resting on Derek's shoulder as they listen and feel that steady thump of his heartbeat. It's not fast, not the way it used to be, but it's there. It feels like a miracle.

"I'm gonna need to feed," Stiles eventually mumbles, his voice sluggish. "Apparently coming back to life takes a lot out of a guy." He chokes on a laugh. "Holy crap, Derek."

Derek doesn't even hesitate. He drops his fangs, slicing cleanly through his wrist and holding it up in front of Stiles. Stiles takes the offering in one cool hand and bends to drink without another word. His own fangs, thinner and sharper than Derek's, pierce around the wound already there when it tries to heal too quickly.

It used to hurt, in the beginning, when Stiles was still unpracticed. Derek remembers those days, and the way the pack used to have to grit their teeth and try to hide their pain. Derek volunteered as often as he could, until he left in search of a cure. While he was gone, Stiles got better at it.

Now, there's no pain, just a pleasant fog that Derek allows himself to sink into. His body hums, blood replenishing itself nearly as fast as Stiles can take it. He fills his senses with Stiles as much as he can, because he hasn't seen him in so long and it's been hard, harder than he wants to admit, being separated. So he listens to the steady, reassuring _thu-thump_ of Stiles heart, getting stronger and stronger now. Feels the pull of his mouth at Derek's wrist, his hands on Derek's skin, his weight holding Derek exactly where he is. Watches the color fill his cheeks, the awful paleness giving way to the warm rush of blood flowing through him again. Smells the excitement, the joy, the arousal that fills Stiles with every moment, every mouthful.

God, he's missed that scent.

"I want to go outside," Stiles says softly when he's had enough and Derek can no longer smell even the faintest trace of pain. He licks gently at Derek's wrist to close the wound. "Can we?"

The sun has fully risen while Derek's been here. He can sense it, warm behind the heavy curtains at his back, and he has to swallow down a sudden rush of nausea, remembering the last time (the only time) Stiles had tried to venture into sunlight after he was changed. His hand had been blackened and withered for a week before he'd finally had enough blood to heal. He'd cried for most of that time, and when he wasn't crying, he was spiraling into panic attacks even his father couldn't drag him out of.

That was the same week Derek offered to search for something, _anything_ , that might be able to help. And Stiles, depressed and desperate, had accepted.

Now Derek has found that something he spent so long searching for, and he's terrified. "Are you—"

"Please, Derek." Stiles' stares up at him beseechingly. "I'm already…it worked at least this far, I'm sure it worked the rest of the way, too. _Please_."

Hearing Stiles beg is too much for Derek, so he closes his eyes and nods. "Okay," he says, forcing the word past unwilling lips. "Okay. We'll go together." As though he could shield Stiles if it doesn't work, push him back far enough fast enough to save him from the terrible sunshine.

Stiles leaps up, already tugging Derek with him out of his bedroom, across the hall, down the stairs. The sheriff must be working today, because there's no sign of him in the house. Sunlight splashes in through the windows downstairs, but Stiles has become adept at dodging around these danger areas, and he does so now, obviously unwilling to test his new lease on life on anything but the real thing, pure sunlight unfiltered by cloth or glass.

Derek feels sick to his stomach, has to stop himself from throwing Stiles away from the door as he reaches for the knob.

Stiles' hand doesn't tremble, as it might have when he was human. He darts a glance back at Derek, his eyes bright, his smile radiant. "Here goes nothing," he says, and throws the door open wide, racing headlong into this just like he has ever other situation he's faced since he day they met.

In a blink, he's outside, head tilted up, eyes closed. Tense. Waiting. For a second, Derek can't help but resent him for not giving him a chance to stop him, not even allowing him a few words _just in case_. Even though he knows it was probably deliberate. Why allow either of them the moments of doubt?

And then he realizes that it doesn't matter, because Stiles _isn't burning_. He's standing there, the sun kissing him like a long-lost lover. His skin isn't blackening from the rays, and he doesn't smell of burning meat and death.

(Derek is intimately familiar with that particular scent. The first time he smelled it on Stiles, he'd thought his world was ending all over again.)

He finally manages to take a step closer, and then another. "You're impossible," he says, though his voice is choked from the stone lodged in his throat. He wraps his arms around Stiles' waist from behind. Stiles' skin is already sun-warmed, and Derek can sense his complete and utter elation.

"You did it, Derek," he tells him tilting his head back to rest it against Derek's shoulder. "I knew you would. I totally knew it."

Derek is glad one of them had faith in him. "You can go away to school now," he whispers into Stiles' hair. "Or take that road trip with Scott you wanted to, before."

Stiles turns in Derek's arms, wrapping his own around Derek's neck and kissing his nose because he likes the way Derek always pretends it annoys him. "Or I can lie on a beach with my boyfriend," he counters, eyes shining. "Help him rebuild the house he's been putting off. Maybe marry him in the same place his parents were married."

In a clearing in the preserve, where the break in the trees filtered sunlight down over a small, perfect field of clover, his mother's favorite. Derek swallows hard, touching his forehead to Stiles'. "Anything you want," he tells him honestly, his voice breaking. "Everything." What he means is, _yes, please_.

"I want you," Stiles whispers, "I just want you to stay and be here and be mine. Don't go away again, okay?"

Derek can do that, and he fully intends to tell Stiles so except Stiles has already captured his mouth in a dizzying, desperate kiss. The two of them are like puzzle pieces, Derek thinks, fitting together so perfectly that sometimes it's hard to tell where he ends and Stiles begins. It's been that way since the beginning. It used to scare him.

Nothing about Stiles scares him anymore, except the idea of losing him.

Derek holds him close and promises himself he'll continue doing everything in his power to make sure that never happens.

"You're thinking too loud," Stiles tells him, biting at his lip. "Come hang out with me in the sunshine." So saying, he drops unceremoniously to the grass, tugging Derek down with him, and they lay back together, staring up at the cloudless blue sky. It feels so surreal. The grass beneath them is soft and warm, a little damp from morning dew, and Derek thinks he could happily stay here forever. His heart is pounding, something warm and bright filling it. It feels a lot like hope. Hope for a certain sort of future, maybe, one he hadn't dared contemplate before.

Stiles reaches out and takes his hand. Their fingers fold together, and Stiles is grinning as bright as the sun he can't get enough of. Derek wants to touch him all over, to feel every piece of him warm and alive beneath his fingers. Stiles can't read his thoughts, no matter what the myths say, but he still looks over at Derek, eyes glinting like he knows exactly what Derek is thinking, and says, "Kiss me again?"

What else can Derek do but give him whatever he asks for? He leans over, propping himself on one arm, the other hand tracing the curve of Stiles' cheek, and he kisses him.

It's easy for the first few long moments, quiet and soft and indulgent, and then Stiles grins against his mouth, grabbing Derek and flipping him onto his back, crouching over him like a goddamn predator, and Derek can't help the laugh that gets knocked loose. He feels giddy, something almost completely foreign to him since he was a teenager.

"Your father is going to arrest us for public indecency," he says when he feels Stiles rub against him, a lithe move that has them pressed together from knee to chest.

"Nah. Backyard, no nosy neighbors to care." Stiles dips his head, stealing another kiss, and another, and then Derek gives in and bares his neck and lets him latch on there. Something suspiciously like bliss curls through him as Stiles suckles that sensitive area. "Need you," Stiles says, the words muffled by Derek's skin. "Need you so much." He presses down, and Derek can feel himself hardening, far too fast and too easily, powerless as he always is against an onslaught of Stiles. He stifles a moan, but not fast enough for Stiles not to catch it and smile against his neck. "Let go," he whispers. "Derek, come on, just…let go. Today is perfect, why shouldn't you?"

Derek could come up with a thousand reasons, he's sure, if Stiles would just stop and let him think for a second, but he doesn't. He moves against Derek, biting gently at his neck. Though he doesn't draw blood, it still makes Derek shudder helplessly. His hand moves almost of its own volition, trailing down Stiles' spine and curving around his ass. He bucks up into him, and the friction is amazing. He can already feel something inside him tightening, spiraling closer and closer to release. It's been so long, and his every sense is filled with Stiles, and then, god help him, he's already coming, long before he should. But he's not embarrassed about it because Stiles makes a small sound in the back of his throat and follows suit, as though Derek's own release shoved him right over the precipice with him.

As they lay panting against each other, Stiles kisses him again. Derek thinks if he could, he'd be trying to crawl inside Derek just to get closer. He gets it, in fact feels pretty much exactly the same.

"I love you," Stiles says, and Derek's breath hitches because they've never said it before, even if they both knew. "I'd love you even if you hadn't brought me back the sun and my life again. Just so you know. But thank you. Thank you so much, Derek."

"Don't thank me for that," Derek says hoarsely. "God, Stiles, it was my f—"

Stiles' fingers against his mouth silence him. "It wasn't. And it doesn't matter anymore anyway. Just accept the fact that I think you're awesome and wonderful and I'm going to shower you in gratitude for the rest of my naturally-long life."

Derek blinks, something pricking at the back of his eyes. "Okay," he agrees, because he knows Stiles won't accept anything less. "And I love you too."

"I know." Stiles smiles again, the sun turning his eyes to brilliant amber. Derek kisses him again, can't help but kiss him again, overwhelmed.

It really is a perfect day.

**Author's Note:**

> I've written all manner of vampires at one time or another, but I have to give sirona some credit here for a couple bits of vampire physiology I didn't even realize I was lifting from her wonderful Clint/Coulson vampire fic until it was already done.
> 
> If you'd like to come chat with me on tumblr, you can find me [here](http://morganoconner.tumblr.com/). :)


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